


Grapple Them unto Thy Soul

by Idris388



Series: To me, fair friend [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Best Friends, Brotherhood, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Quote: I'm with you 'til the end of the line, moving forward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:10:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idris388/pseuds/Idris388
Summary: "I’m giving you something else. Something more…spiritual.”Bucky made a face. “Spiritual?”“Yeah,” Steve said. The fire lit his face with an orange glow, and his eyes were reverent as he reached out a hand to touch Bucky’s forehead, like a blessing. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he said quietly. “I’m absolving you of your sins.”(They have always found a way to survive, despite their wounds. And now, they have to find a way to heal, and to live.)





	Grapple Them unto Thy Soul

**Author's Note:**

> First of all - Endgame spoilers ahead!
> 
> So, I am utterly aware of the strong and varied opinions on Steve's decision at the end of Endgame - and, of course, I have my own. This story is less about those, and more about investigating what happened between the Endgame scenes.
> 
> Most of all, it's about Steve and Bucky's friendship and how it's changed over time, and how it's stayed the same.
> 
> No Steve/Bucky, but feel free to interpret how you will. Enjoy!

* * *

_Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,_

_Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel._

_~William Shakespeare, “Hamlet”_

* * *

 

Steve found his notebooks purely by mistake, although it wasn’t like Bucky was hiding them. He’d stored them in Steve’s guest room (his room now, he supposed), in the little dresser next to his bed. Steve, in one of this manic cleaning moods, opened the drawer and saw them all stacked messily inside.

“These are still around?” he asked Bucky, surprise colouring his voice.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. T’Challa had taken them from the government offices where they’d been kept under lock and key, and returned them to Bucky in Wakanda. Bucky had cried a little, which had been a bit embarrassing, but the king had assured him that in this century, it was perfectly acceptable for him to cry, even in front of royalty. 

The pile of notebooks was neat and even, colours stark against the white of the island counter. Steve was holding one like it was a live grenade. “Do you still need them?”

Bucky shrugged. “I already know everything that’s in them, but I still like to have them. They remind me.”

“Of what?”

Bucky didn’t reply. _Of home. Of Hydra. Of you. Of the Winter Soldier._

Steve took a deep breath. “Can I read them?” Taken aback, Bucky opened his mouth then closed it again. Steve watched his reaction carefully.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Bucky replied finally, although it felt strange. He never used to have secrets from Steve.

But Steve only said, “Ok.”

“It’s just-“

“You don’t need to explain, Buck.” Steve’s eyes were liquid and blue and gentle. “They’re your memories.”

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. There were never any ways to put everything into words – how much they had done for each other, the friendship they shared, the lengths they had gone to keep each other safe. But despite all that, Steve was still the same; constant and steady as the North Star. And Bucky – well, he was something else. “You’re my best friend,” he said finally.

“I know,” Steve replied.

“And I’m your best friend, too,” Bucky said, although it came out sounding like a question.

“Always.”

Bucky tightened the muscles in his face until he saw stars bloom behind his eyelids. Bright, like pinpricks, like bursts of blood. “But I’m not that boy you used to know in Brooklyn. Not anymore. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Steve asked, and it wasn’t anger, but there was a tone of _something_ in his voice that made Bucky open his eyes.

“No,” he returned quietly. “No, I don’t think you do know.” His eyes drifted to the book in Steve’s hand; the familiar coloured tabs, the worn leather cover. “But if you read those, you will. 

Steve stared at him, thunderstruck. “Buck, _I don’t care_ -“

Steve always cared. About everything. Bucky looked down at the notebook for a long time, before saying, “Read them if you’re curious, Steve. I don’t mind. Really.” He went to the counter, boiled the kettle, took a mug down from the cupboard, made tea, before turning back around. Steve had sat down at the kitchen island, the book squarely in front of him. “But don’t do it while I’m here,” Bucky finished, and then took his tea up to his room and shut the door.

* * *

 

When he emerged, before dinner, the pile of notebooks was gone. Steve was still in the kitchen, leaning over his own mug of hot tea, face pale. 

Bucky didn’t say _I told you so_. Instead, he went to the pantry and took out a pot and a packet of pasta. The induction stove was a new concept to him. So was the in-built fan above the stove, and the little light that flicked on whenever he got close. There were too many knobs as well, in Steve’s fancy kitchen. He turned one that started up the oven, then another that opened the microwave door. “Dammit,” he muttered, twisting it back.

“Third from the left,” Steve said from behind him.

“Thanks,” he replied, turning the knob. The little number indicating heat popped up. Bucky placed the pot on and put in a handful of pasta. “Steve-“

“We used to sit on the fire escape,” Steve said, voice hoarse. “Outside your place. Top floor. Before dinner, we’d watch the Sun go down. Then I’d go down all those stairs and you’d watch me walk home.”

Bucky turned around. Steve’s eyes and cheeks were wet with tears. Bucky filled the kettle again, to occupy his hands. There were mugs on the drying rack; he picked one with pale pink roses and a handle edged with gold.

“Your mum used to listen to Irving Berlin,” Steve continued. “And Glenn Miller. She and your dad used to dance.”

“Her favourite was the Ink Spots,” Bucky added with a faint smile. “She’d sing along when they came on the radio.”

Steve folded his arms and sat with perfect schoolboy posture. “You remember that,” he said. “It’s all written in your book. Hydra tortured you for seventy years, and you still remember what your mum’s favourite band was.” Bucky blinked. “You remember all those things; the dinners, the birthdays, your sister’s cat, the colour of your goddamn tablecloth –“ Steve broke off and rubbed his face with his hands.

Bucky wasn’t sure what was happening. “But Steve,” he said after a moment. “I also remember a lot of other things.” He waited to see if Steve would interject or reply, but Steve stayed silent and still. So he continued. “I remember killing a little girl’s mother right in front of her. Shot clean through the head. I remember looking down the barrel of a gun and knowing that if I fired, I might start a war, then doing it anyway. I remember shooting Natasha –“ Steve flinched visibly. “– in Odessa.” Bucky folded his arms. “Straight through the hip. Killed the man who was with her. I shot her in the shoulder too. Just like I shot Tony Stark’s parents. Howard Stark and his wife.” He was being cruel now, he knew. Steve didn’t deal well with loss, with losing his friends. But he couldn’t stop the words, the confessions, the records of his deeds. “I shot _you_. In the stomach. I remember that too. I remember beating you to an absolute pulp. Breaking your bones.” Bucky stopped. His hands were shaking. “If you were a normal person, you’d be dead. I’d have killed you.” Steve was staring at him again, eyes wide. It might have been the most Bucky had spoken since he was a Sergeant in the army in World War Two.

“Bucky-“ Steve began, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“I would have killed you,” he repeated in a trembling voice. “And don’t tell me that I wouldn’t have, because it’s _you_ – I didn’t hesitate to shoot you. If you weren’t you, you’d have bled out. It would have been me who killed you. I’m a killer, Steve.” Steve opened his mouth to object, but Bucky glared at him until he closed his mouth. The pasta pot was bubbling viciously. He yanked the knob until it turned off, then kept on. “You and everyone else ignored it before, because there was Sokovia, and then the Accords, and then Thanos – but all those things are gone now, and you can’t ignore it anymore.”

There was a silence, in which they looked at each other. Steve’s eyes were filled with tears again; his expression so sad that it hurt to look at. Bucky didn’t look away. 

“I don’t ignore it,” Steve said finally. “It wasn’t you who did those things.”

Bucky closed his eyes in a soundless sigh. He’d heard it again and again, from Steve and others, but none of them quite understood. “It was-“

“It wasn’t.” Steve’s eyes were endlessly earnest. “It wasn’t, Bucky, it wasn’t you-“

Bucky hurled his mug to the floor. It smashed with a horrendous noise, and hot tea pooled between the jagged shards, like a bizarre brown bleed between the white-pink blotches. He was breathing hard through his nose, he realised. He didn’t look towards Steve; he didn’t want to see the fear there. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between his flesh fingers. “I got angry. I’m still me, not the Winter Soldier. You don’t need to be scared.”

There was a rustle, then a soft hand on his wrist, a reassuring touch to his shoulder. “Bucky,” Steve said. “I’m not scared of you.”

The late evening light, the fairy lights that Steve had hung in the yard twinkled merrily. Bucky’s mother had always told him words had power, and how well he knew it. The Winter Soldier had been controlled by only words. And now, these words of his, of Bucky Barnes’, were out in the world, and he felt lighter and weaker and dizzier. Steve was waiting for his response, but he didn’t have one. Only his knees giving way; sliding to the floor. “Woah,” Steve said in alarm, grabbing at him, but Bucky waved away his hand.

Steve sat beside him instead, while tea spread across his nice clean floor. Bucky felt drowsy, his head heavy. There was a slow burning behind his eyes, like hot tears. He rested his forehead on one hand, and let his metal hand rest on his knee. It was cold through the cloth of his trousers. “You’re a voice of justice in this country. You’re _Captain America_ ,” he said wearily.

“I was Steve Rogers before any of that,” Steve said softly.

Bucky shook his head, still propped on his hand. “You were always Captain America,” he said. “And I’m…” He trailed off.

Steve, with force and defiance – “ _It wasn’t you_.”

Bucky let out a long, slow breath. “Guilty,” he finished. “I’m guilty.”

The words hung in the air, substantial. Bucky felt wetness against his hand, and found, to his surprise, that he was crying. Steve put an arm around him with no hesitation and pulled him closer. Bucky was close enough to lay his head on Steve’s shoulder, but he tucked his legs closer to his chest instead and didn’t.

Steve held on. “If you’re guilty,” he said to Bucky quietly, “then so am I.”

* * *

 

“You’re the only person alive today,” Steve said, as they sat in front of the fire, “who knows the real Steve Rogers.” 

Bucky said nothing. _The real Steve Rogers_ was a complicated concept. The real anything was a complicated concept.

“And I’m the only one who knows you,” Steve continued in his steady, quiet way. “So please, Buck, please, let’s just talk.”

Bucky smiled humourlessly. “I think I’ve talked enough today, Steve.”

“Then let me,” Steve said, and finally, Bucky nodded. “Do you know what it is that you mean to me?”

Bucky frowned. “What?” he asked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” Steve looked like he was struggling for words. Bucky knew the feeling. “Back when we were kids, living in Brooklyn, you took care of me, you were my only friend, you never cared that girls didn’t like me or that I couldn’t dance or that I kept getting beaten up.” Steve’s eyes glowed with memory and the light from the fire. “You saw me before I was Captain America.” Bucky pulled his legs up onto the sofa and listened. “You’re the first person who ever believed in me.”

“I still do.”

Steve smiled to himself. “I know. I know you do. This is exactly my point.” He sighed. “Everyone else who knows me, even the people who know _Steve_ – they all believe in me because I’m Captain America.” He looked Bucky square in the face. “You believe in Captain America because of me.”

Bucky felt warmth in his chest, bright and almost forgotten. “What’s your point, Steve?” he asked, letting the smile into his eyes.

Steve’s answering grin said that he’d seen it. “I just mean that everybody looks at you and sees the Winter Soldier. Even the people who know you as a person do. They see all the people you’ve hurt, and you see them seeing that – but I need you to know I don’t see that.” Steve reached across to clasp Bucky’s hand, solid and warm. “I see you. I see the Bucky I knew as a kid, every time I look at you. There’s other stuff too, but that never changes – you think that version of you is gone, but it isn’t.”

Bucky turned his head to look into the fire. “You sure about that?”

Steve let go of Bucky’s hand and pulled back, taking a deep breath. “After Thanos…after the…during those five years, I used to run this group. And we’d talk about the people that we lost. I’d tell them they had to move on, to heal, to rebuild their lives.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I’ll bet you were real good at that.”

Steve chuckled. “Not exactly,” he admitted. “But I read a lot of books about it. And one thing I learnt is that you’ve got to heal wounds before you can move on.” He fidgeted for a moment, then stilled his hands. “Maybe the James Barnes you were before will show himself if you forgive yourself. Or you at least try.” 

And it was just like Steve, Bucky thought, to be dealing out this kind of cliché wisdom, but absolutely and completely meaning it. “I wish it were that simple, Steve.” 

Steve blinked. “But why isn’t it?”

“Why isn’t it?” Bucky repeated disbelievingly. “When have you ever forgiven yourself for _anything_ , Steve?”

“I-“ Steve looked suspiciously shiny-eyed again. “I’m trying.” 

Bucky bowed his head. “It’s not that simple. You have a lot of demons, don’t think I don’t know it, but they’re still yours. Maybe you shouldn’t blame yourself for the things you do, but at least you did them.” Steve looked like he wanted to comfort Bucky in some way, but didn’t know how. Bucky said, “The things I’ve done, Steve. There’s no forgiveness.” 

“That isn’t true,” Steve said. Bucky opened his mouth, hesitated, then sank back onto the cushions, but Steve did reach out now and took both of his elbows, eyes blazing. “Say it. Whatever you were going to say, _say it_.” 

Bucky shook his head no, there was icy fear in him now, not of Steve but of what was about to happen.

“We’re the only two left, Buck. It’s just me and you. Alone together. And you’re my best friend.” Steve squeezed his elbows gently. “Please let me help you.”

“Help me,” Bucky repeated softly. “You told me that when you woke up from that ice…You told me that Natasha helped you.” He couldn’t look at Steve. “You told me that even though Tony was an asshole, he offered to help you find a home in Brooklyn. You told me that Howard made that shield for you. You told me that the Avengers took you in; that it was the first time you didn’t feel alone since waking up in a different century.”

Steve swallowed. “I did tell you that.”

Bucky spread his hands. “I ruined all of that. Some of it wasn’t me, some of it was. But I’m still the reason. I shot Howard Stark, and I didn’t even remember until you woke me up. So many others.” Bucky spoke, and said _My hands are awash with blood_. He didn’t realise he’d slipped into Russian until Steve’s brow creased, so he repeated the phrase in English. “My mind wasn’t in it, sure. But why would that matter to their families. Why would they forgive me?” Now, he raised his head and looked Steve right in the eye. “Why would you? How can I?”

He wasn’t sure where he’d heard the phrase. _My hands are awash with blood_. He thought maybe it was related to Natasha, but even now, parts of his life that weren’t killing or post-Steve were blurry and shattered in his mind. _It’ll never wash off_. He knew that.

When Steve spoke, it was a surprise. “Maybe their families don’t forgive you,” he said. “They don’t know you, so I suppose that’s fair. But for what it’s worth, I do.”

Bucky shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re-“

“Hey,” Steve said, and there was a smile in his voice. “I’m Captain America. I’m a voice of justice in this country. I know how to deal it out.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at that, but grinned back. “Alright, Captain America. Am I being granted a legal pardon?”

“Who cares about those?” Steve said dryly. “No, I’m giving you something else. Something more…spiritual.”

Bucky made a face. “Spiritual?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. The fire lit his face with an orange glow, and his eyes were reverent as he reached out a hand to touch Bucky’s forehead, like a blessing. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he said quietly. “I’m absolving you of your sins.”

Then he reached out again and wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders once more, and they sat side by side on the sofa in silence.

Bucky closed his eyes and let the moment sit on him. Tomorrow, the load would be back. Perhaps a little less, perhaps not. But now, sitting in front of the fire in a peaceful world that didn’t need the Winter Soldier, Bucky rested his head on the shoulder next to him, and let Steve take some of the weight.

* * *

“Tell me to stay,” Steve said to him. “And I will.” He looked at Bucky to make sure they both knew he meant it. “Until the end of the line,” he said. “I promised.”

Bucky looked back at him. “So you did.” It was difficult sometimes, now, for Steve to understand what was going on inside his friend’s head. “If you go,” Bucky said, “I won’t see you again.”

It was a question. _Ever?_ But Steve didn’t know the answer. Bucky wasn’t really waiting for one anyway; there were cogs turning behind his eyes. Finally, he gave Steve a half-smile. “The world will miss Captain America, you know.”

Steve blinked. “You mean-“ 

“You’re a punk, you know that?” Bucky interrupted him. “God, you piss me off sometimes. Here you are, with happiness where you can actually reach it for a change, and you’re asking me to give you _permission_?”

“You’re saying I should do it?” 

“I’m saying that if you thought for a second that I’d stop you from being happy, you’re a goddamn idiot.” Bucky glared at him. “‘ _Tell me to stay’_ ,” he mocked. “‘ _And I will’_. Who do you think you’re talking to, huh?” He glared harder. “Idiot.”

Steve swallowed. “You’ll be alone.”

“What’s new?”

“ _Bucky_.”

Bucky considered him carefully. “Well, why don’t you ask me to come with you, then?” 

It hit Steve over the head like a bucket full of bricks – of _course_ , they should go together, it would be the perfect solution. “Come with me,” he said, louder than he intended.

A sad smile. “No.”

That was another bucket full of bricks. “What?” Steve said stupidly. “But…But…But your family. Your friends. You belong there.” 

“Steve,” Bucky sighed. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

“That is not true,” Steve said fiercely.

“Yes, it is,” Bucky said, and there was honesty in his voice. “Don’t you think I want to see Ma and Pa and Becca? Don’t you think I miss them? But I can’t go home to them, not like this. Not after the things I’ve done.”

“Bucky-“

“Listen to me, Steve,” Bucky said firmly. “For once in your life. I’m trying to forgive. You taught me how to do that. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again, and the only place I’m going to find out if that’s true is here. At least if I snap, there’ll be Bruce to stop me killing everyone, or Shuri to help get Hydra out of my head. Back in 1940s Brooklyn, I’d kill the whole neighbourhood before you could even get to me.” He put his hands in his pockets. He looked sure. It broke Steve’s heart. “I won’t go to my family. Not like this. You’re whole and happy, and you’ll have a good life. There’s no life for me in 1945.”

Steve’s throat hurt as he spoke. “But you’re saying it’s ok if I go.”

Bucky sighed. Looked up at the trees. “It’ll be hard. I don’t know how to be me without you. Maybe it’s time I learnt.” He shrugged at Steve. “Besides, I want you to be happy.”

Steve covered his face with his hands. “Even when I had nothing,” he mumbled into them, “I had you. If I could split myself in two now-“

Bucky laughed at that. “You’ve been split in two long enough, Steve,” he said in reply. “You’ve sacrificed enough for me.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Does this make me a bad person? Is it the right thing to do?”

Bucky gave him a sharp look. “That’s not fair,” he said. “Don’t put that on me. If you go, then go, and be happy. But don’t ask me to tell you that it’s not wrong or bad or selfish. You have to decide that for yourself.”

“I know,” Steve said quietly. It had been selfish to ask in the first place, he saw now. Bucky would never tell him to stay if he wanted to go. “I don’t want to leave you here,” he admitted quietly. “We said until the end of the line.”

Bucky reached out and tugged his hands away from his face. “Do you honestly think,” Bucky said, “that I won’t stay with you? That you won’t stay with me?” He released Steve’s wrists. “I think that promise goes beyond the physical by now.” Again, Bucky looked up at the trees. Leant his head back. Closed his eyes. “But I do release you from that promise. If it’s what you want.”

It wasn’t what Steve wanted. “You know I can’t let go of you." 

Bucky smiled. “You can. But I’ll still be there.”

It was a blessing like no other.

Steve swallowed hard against the tears. “The shield – if you want it –“

Bucky laughed even louder this time. “You and I both know that isn’t going to happen,” he said with genuine amusement. “Even if I wanted it. Which I don’t.” 

“You don’t?” Steve asked with honest curiosity.

Bucky opened his eyes and looked over. “I think I have enough to be dealing with in this lifetime, don’t you?” Steve had to admit that was true. “Besides, I was there when you first got it. To me, that shield will always be yours. It would just be a burden. To someone else, it might be a gift.”

“So what should I do with it?”

“We both know who you should give it to.”

Steve felt the breath in his chest flutter. “I don’t want to leave you,” he repeated.

Bucky looked utterly normal, his jacket covering his metal arm, his skinny jeans, his hair glinting in the sunlight. Almost at peace. “I’ll be with you. No matter where you go.”

There was nothing more that needed to be said. So they sat in silence, on that park bench, and Steve let it fill him up.

* * *

 

_Coda_

It is odd to see Steve frail and old. But he is still there, in the eyes and the smile. After Sam is finished speaking with him, Bucky comes and sits next to Steve and they look out over the lake together.

“Your mum says hi,” Steve tells him at last. “And she hopes you’re eating your greens.” 

Bucky laughs. 

“Becca wanted me to remind you that her cat’s name is Margo. She knew you’d forget. Your dad sends love.” Steve sighs. “I was sorry I couldn’t bring you home to them.”

Bucky swallows painfully. “I’m sure you were more than enough.”

“Peggy says hello, too,” Steve continues. “She was sorry I had to leave you behind.”

Bucky bumps Steve’s shoulder with his own – lightly, since Steve’s bones are a lot more fragile now. “I told you I’d stay with you.”

“You did,” Steve says. “Always.”

Bucky tangles his fingers together. Wonders how many years Steve has left. “Sentimentalist.”

“Ah, Buck,” Steve laughs. “I really missed you.”

They’ve both lived long enough to face mortality. “Did you have a good life?” Bucky asks.

They watch a flock of birds take flight over the lake. “I did.” 

Bucky nods. “Good.”

Steve pats his knee. “Time for you to live yours, I think.”

The wind rustles the leaves gently, and ripples the surface of the lake. The sky glows with a palette of warm colours, smeared across the horizon line. The ending, Bucky thinks, of something. “In a minute,” he says quietly. 

And that’s how it goes. They sit, like all those years ago, back in Brooklyn on the top of that fire escape. Side by side, now, they sit in silence. And watch the Sun go down.


End file.
